


quiet hands, quiet kiss (in their sleep of the dead)

by platinumbered



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: I am sorry for this, M/M, Ugh, loosely tied to canon, no im not I lied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinumbered/pseuds/platinumbered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he gets back and finds out that Johnny's been jumped; sees the scar on his cheek and the new fear in his eyes; he goes and ruins some more property.</p><p>This time, he doesn't get caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet hands, quiet kiss (in their sleep of the dead)

The night Dallas gets chucked into the slammer _(again),_ he, along with almost everyone in the gang, is mostly drunk. A form of tipsy, at least.

Steve and Soda are cuddling and wheezing at some stupid cartoon on TV, Two-Bit is going out to find a gal, Darry is silently disapproving (and not letting Pony _anywhere near_ the alcohol), and Johnny is laid out on the Curtis' couch, his head on Dally's lap.

Dally doesn't remember how Johnny got there, but what his alcohol-addled brain can comprehend is that Johnny is looking up at him like he's fuckin' God Himself; dark eyes shining.

He wrinkles his nose. Should be illegal to be that damn cute. So, he pushes Johnny's hair out of his eyes and slurs, "How'd y' even get down there, Johnnycake?"

Johnny blushes and giggles weakly. "Dunno." He closes his eyes and nuzzles Dally's hand. "M' tired."

Dally's tired too. And drunk. And dizzy. And very drunk. The room keeps on spinning. But Johnny seems steady in this weird spinny room. Before he can tell what he's doing, Dally grabs Johnny under the armpits, says, "Alley-oop," and lifts him up so he's sitting on Dally's knee.

Something about this is hilarious to Johnny, and he laughs, face pressed into Dallas' shoulder. Johnny's arms come up around his neck, and he sighs contentedly. Dally's content too. He feels warm and sleepy, so his arms tighten around Johnny's waist. It feels nice. He figures he could stay like this for forever. Or, not _forever_ forever. One of them would eventually have to pee, or get bored, or hungry or somethin'. But for a while.

Somewhere along the line, Johnny's breathing evens out, and he snores quietly on Dallas' lap. Dallas falls asleep too, to the sound of Steve and Soda giggling stupidly and Ponyboy bitching to Darry about how he's _not_ such a little kid anymore, and why can't he just _try_ some?

He wakes up with a pounding headache and Johnny in his arms. The house is dark, the TV still playing softly. Everyone else is gone. By his best guess, it's around four A.M., maybe.

Johnny is still sleeping, looking peaceful and serene.

The kid is usually bright. Full of something a little like joy, even if his parents beat him up bad sometimes. It doesn't seem to bother him that much. He's sweet, kind, and damn naïve for a sixteen-year-old these days. Smiles a lot.

That doesn't mean Dally doesn't worry, though.

Before Dally can think any more about him, Johnny starts stirring on his knee. Dark eyes open, blinking slightly up at Dally, who smiles stupidly. "Mornin'."

"Mornin'," Johnny yawns back, stretching. He raises his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. Something cracks, and Johnny goes loose-limbed against Dallas again, with a little sigh. "What time is it?" he says sleepily.

"Dunno," Dally says, squinting at the clock up on the wall, then remembering it's been broken for at least two years. It doesn't help, so Dally doesn't get why they keep it around. "Early. Ow, shit." He winces, rubbing his forehead. His headache pounds. It's too early for this, Dally thinks grumpily. "I'm gonna go get some aspirin."

"Okay," Johnny murmurs, barely awake. Dally picks him up carefully and lays him down on the couch. He walks towards the Curtis' medicine cabinet, knowing exactly where they keep their aspirin.

He takes two and sighs, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Johnny looks sweet and still in the silence of the house. He doesn't deserve to live the life he does, Dally thinks silently, drinking the rest of his water. He doesn't deserve asshole parents. People like Dallas do. Parents that hit too hard and drink too much and don't care whether their kids sleep in parking lots.

"Dal..."

He looks up suddenly. "Hm?" he says around a cigarette. He hadn't even noticed he was lighting one.

Johnny doesn't respond.

Dallas turns around to face Johnny fully. "Johnnycake?" he says.

Johnny hums contentedly, still obviously asleep. He shifts a little, and thanks to the light of the streetlamp outside, Dallas can see the look of pure bliss on Johnny's face. "Dallas..." he groans softly, moving his hips slightly, "...please." He covers his mouth, hips still shivering a little, and emits something a little like a sob.

Dally feels shivers run down his spine at that, and shudders. Why do the Curtis' have their damn air conditioning on? It's cold outside. That's the only goddamn reason he's shivering. Must be.

Johnny settles on his side and mumbles some other things that Dally can't make out, but Dally has come to one conclusion. Johnny's been dreaming about him for some reason, dreaming dreaming, and it makes mysterious things swell in the pit of his stomach.

No. It's not possible. Johnny isn't the...the type. Yes, that's it. He's way too innocent to have dreams about Dallas and him...

"He wouldn't dream about me like that," he mutters roughly to himself, spitting the barely-lit cigarette into the Curtis' sink. "He's not...He ain't..." But he can't say it, not even to himself. The tips of his ears burn in shame.

He pushes off of the counter, wanting to hit something. Yeah, that'd make him feel better. Breaking shit always works.

***

He steals some candy bars from the corner store and breaks a couple of windows from some other shitty stores down the street, early that morning, but he's sloppy and unfocused, and he gets his dumb ass caught. That hasn't happened in a long time, but he can't stop thinking about Johnny. His Johnny.

What he could've been dreaming about.

It's a stupid reason, ain't it, to get caught stealin' stuff when you're thinkin' about your best friend having dreams about you.

But, Dally thinks to himself, face reddening yet again in the dark of his cell , those dreams weren't normal dreams.

They're both guys. That's wrong, isn't it? To be having dreams about another guy like that?

It's _not_ right, he thinks feverishly. But even he can't ignore the shock it sends down his spine. Down, down further. Through his whole body.

He lies down on the bed in the cell, too tired to sleep, but too exhausted for anything else. His mind churns with thoughts of Johnny Cade in ways he'd never even imagined before.

It's not right.

But no one has to know.

No one has to know.

***

When he gets back and finds out that Johnny's been jumped; his Johnny; sees the new scar on his cheek and the new fear in his eyes; he goes and ruins some more property.

This time, he doesn't get caught.

***

He corners Johnny two days after he gets out. He needs answers. Because no one touches Johnny. No one. "So, Johnny," he says carefully, ignoring the heartbeat thrumming in his chest. "'Bout that scar on your face."

Johnny visibly starts. His hands begin trembling a little, and Dally feels bad, bad bad bad swell in his gut. "It's." He scratches the back of his head, trying to be casual. "They just... A coupla Socs kinda found me walking alone, one day, and they. Um. Beat me up a little. It's nothing, promise." Johnny shifts.

Dallas says weakly, "It ain't nothin', man. It's a helluva somethin'," long fingers pulling his box of cigarettes open and getting one out. "You're different." He lights it and takes a drag, eyes flitting to things that aren't Johnny. Huh. Sure is a nice tree over there.

He offers the cigarette to Johnny. "Wannit?"

"It's okay, Dal. I'll get my own," Johnny says quietly. He's looking at Dally. He's got this face he makes sometimes, whenever Dallas smokes. Like he can't look away from what's in front of him.

"What're'ya lookin' at, man?" Dallas says uncomfortably.

Johnny reddens. "Nothin'." He backs up a little. "...I gotta go. Ponyboy said I could have dinner with 'im." His gaze is fixed on the ground now. "'M sorry."

"For what, man? You're allowed to hang with Ponyboy," Dallas says gruffly. "C'mere."

Johnny does, and Dallas envelops him in a hug. He rests his chin on the top of Johnny's head and strokes his back. "You're good, man," he says quietly.

"Thank you," Johnny murmurs into Dally's chest, his arms coming up around Dallas' back.

Dallas' doesn't want to let him go. The world is undeserving of Johnny Cade. Pretty, soft, sweet Johnny. He's too good for the Socs. For the greasers. For everybody. Dallas wants to give him everything, every single thing in his power to give. He wants to _care for_ and _protect_ and _love_ and just _be_ with Johnny.

It scares him how much he cares about that boy. Honest spooks him, as Johnny walks away along the sidewalk towards the Curtis'. He'd do anything so he's happy.

He can't afford to think that way. Not about Johnny; not about anyone.

***

It's been so long. So long since Dally's had a normal day. First, Johnny straight-up murdered a Soc, then they had to run, and Dallas had to help even though his chest hurt every time he looked at him. And then, everything was burning, and now it's blurry and unfocused because _Johnnycake's only sleeping, please, God,_ and Dallas _can't._

He can feel, very dimly, the pavement under his feet as his vision shakes. His hands are trembling. Johnny's not. He can't. He doesn't deserve that; he has so much more to _do._

He can just barely hear police sirens, see the red and blue lights. The storeowner must have called the police, he thinks, still running. He can't afford to get arrested again. Johnny needs him, that damn idiot. Johnny needs Dallas to protect him out _here,_ where the sun shines and Johnny is alive and _ohgod--_

He pulls the heater out of the waist of his jeans, barely acknowledging the yells behind him. It isn't loaded. It's just a lie. They don't know that, do they? He has to get out, _has to get to Johnny--_

The bullets hit him, and the pain spreads like a raging fire across his body. He doesn't think he can breathe right, and his head is slipping underwater, away. _Have to get to Johnny._

Breathe in.

He can see light in all colors flooding his vision, all coming back to dark blue and black and darkness and a feeling of detachment.

Then.

Johnny smiles at him tearfully, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jean jacket.

Breathe out.

 


End file.
